Not Over Yet
by Troonye
Summary: Well, basically, Sam and Dean are well into old age, and something happens. Please tell me if it is worth it to continue!
1. Chapter 1

The room had a sense of tranquility. Each new for certain with what would happen; they had a good run, and knew they had more than most under their belts. This, that, the other thing, and saving the world, how many times? They hunted well into their late years, only ceasing because it became a physical hazard. Simply, they were as old as dirt. And now, as the slightly elder's breathing became slower, more infrequent each labored breath, the other gripped his wrinkled and worn hand with his own. In the other hand, the slightly younger held a pistol; he was going to go out with a bang, literally. He would have preferred a rifle, but his frail hands could not handle the machine. The elder looked up at the man who he had cried over, fought over, and finally been one with. He knew from years of the past that this was the way things were going to be. If one went, the other did. Earlier, he had struggled with the thought that if he died, his other half would kill himself, but with further thought, he had come to peace with it, knowing that if it came down to it, he would do the same thing. He couldn't live without his Sammy.

In a cracking voice, deteriorated from age, and illness, whispered out, "Sammy, it's been a good life, even with all the demons… and stuff. But you were there for me. And well… Thanks."

The other chuckled softly, and said, "Oh, Dean, always so good for words. I love you, too."

They sat together, silently, gazing into one another's eyes, everything unsaid by words, needn't be spoken.

"Sam…" He broke off coughing, his breath ragged, "Sam, do you ever wish we lived an apple pie life?"

"Dean, we've been over this. A lot. And no, there is nothing I would change about our lives. I loved every second, as long I was with you."

"Good…" Wheeze. "To know."

"Dean, have we done everything?"

"Course…" Wheeze, and violent cough. "Not. But as long as the Impala is safe, I'm all good. You did…" Cough. "Set my baby up, didn't you?"

"Dean, of course I did. Have a little faith in your brother. She's safe in a garage, to be indefinitely pampered and waxed, and taken out yearly to get some fresh air." They smiled at each other, knowing they will live on through the memories in that car.

"Sam. I love you." His breathing started to waver, and gripped his brother's hand tighter.

"Aw, spending your last minutes together, how cute. But hold on just a minute, Wrinkles squared. " The two of them jerked their heads up quick, finding a visitor materialized in their room. A young woman, with sleek black hair, but menacing eyes was looking down at them.

"Who are you?"

"What an inquisitive question, Dean. Wouldn't you like to know? Well, let's get this over with. It goes against all my morals to be doing this, but can't go against His wishes. I would like to see you dead as much as the other guy, but…"

She walked up to the two of them, and before they could react, touched both their heads, and they slumped over on to each other, still gripping hands.


	2. Chapter 2

As the fog slowly cleared from Dean's vision, he could see the ceiling surprisingly well, better than he had in the past fifteen years. He took a deep breath, and could feel his lungs easily let air in and out. Dean had given up hope for overcoming his illness months ago, but now, he felt… fine. Remembering the woman, Dean, out of instinct, jumped up, and spun around, checking the premises. Then, reality sunk in.

"What the hell?" Dean looked down at his hands, which he was used to being wrinkled and worn, seemed to have shed sixty years. At this point, he was, well, simply, panicking. The first thing he did when he panicked was go to Sam. He looked down at the floor, and yelped. In the place of an elderly man, with silver hair, there was a breathtakingly handsome young man, with shaggy brown mop, covering his eyes. The clothes of an old man, not very fashionable to say the least, looked oddly placed on someone so young. Dean, having a reasonable guess, dashed over to the mirror to see what he had been expecting, yet was still beyond surprise at who looked back at him through the glass.

"Holy…" the words died away as he continued to look, tracing his face with his finger. His green eyes were vibrant, missing the accumulated clouds that had long plagued him. His hair was short and colored once more, and his face was free of age. He, simply, was young. There was only one answer to this. He was dead. If not dead, he was dreaming, close to dead. He cocked his head, and pouted at himself. He picked up his hand, and pulled it back, ready to strike himself, but then shrugged. He walked over to Sammy, and slapped his face. Sam just groaned, and his eyes fluttered.

Huh, he guessed he wasn't dreaming. He stood there, looking himself over, remembering what it had been like to be young, with no worries of death haunting his mind, illness sweeping over. Also, he missed his muscles.

"So, Dean, I guess you're dead. Well, first things first, let's get you out of these clothes." He mumbled out loud to himself. He walked over to his closet, and started digging; digging through memories, things that have come and gone, and come again. Soon enough, he found his really old things, some of his best Metallica cassettes, old photos, his old band tees, and his leather jacket, along with some torn jeans. He smiled, his teeth showing through. If he could have, he would have gone into his golden years with style, but Sam had said it was time he matured, even if it was just a little. He slipped into his clothes, musty of age, and walked back over to Sam.

"Dean…?" Sam started, as his vision slowly came back, and when he focused, he yelled, "Dean! You're…"

Dean just raised his eyebrows, and pointed back at him. "You mean… I'm?"

"Seems so Sammy. But look! I still fit in my clothes!" Dean smiled, relaxing with the fact that he needn't filter his words, to sound more mature, supposedly having gained wisdom with old age, but now could speak at whatever he pleased, not just old man things.

"Dean, seriously?"

"Hey, I'm not the one wearing grampy pants."

"Are we dead?"

"Maybe. We_ll_, there is one way we can find out. Let's go see my baby!"

"Dean, we might be dead, and you want to go see your car?" Sam frowned, attempting to hide a grin.

"Um, hell yeah! If we can go to the Impala, and talk to people, well, we're not dead. If we can't, well we are dead, are but are looking pretty darn good if I do say so myself."

"Such good rational, Dean. You really thought that one through."

"Oh, shut up, bitch."

"Jerk."


	3. Chapter 3

"Dean! What the hell are you doing? Weren't we, oh yeah, going to figure out whether or not we were dead?" Sam stood outside, leaning against the wall, waiting for Dean to make his way out the door, growing more and more impatient every moment. It wasn't as if their lives depended on getting to town… Wait… Yeah, it did. Sam heard no reply, and rolled his eyes. Typical Dean. Sam could no longer contain his anxiety standing in place, and then decided to take action and collect Dean himself. He placed his hand on the cold knob, and proceeded to turn it, when the door burst open, and Dean flew out, holding an entire pie within his hands.

"Sam! This pie tastes so good! You know, this tasted gross when my taste buds were all faded… But now! Sammy, I've missed pie!" Dean was so vivid, so alive, and it brought back memories galore; of Dean, of their youth, of pie. Sam had forgotten what it had been like to not worry about sugar counts and whether or not bending over would send him into a fit of pain. Over the years he had slowly convinced himself it was okay that they were getting older, okay that they were helpless, okay that they could no longer save those in need.

Sam rushed forward, collected Dean in his arms, all of the feelings of the day piling on top of each other, and finally coming out. Dean pulled back slowly from the hug, and with a mischievous smile on his mouth, muttered, "Sam, do we really have time for this? Wasn't there a plan about finding my baby, or something like that?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, and smiled, "Let's go Dean, let's go."

"Okay!" Dean started skipping down the road, and yelled over his shoulder, "How I've missed skipping!"

"Dean, aren't you forgetting something?" Sam leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Oh yeah… I never skipped before… Which means I couldn't miss it… Huh." He stopped skipping, and realizing Sam was not within speaking distance, glanced back to find Sam nonchalantly against the wall of their home. "Sammy, whatcha doing?"

"You forgot something essential. Huh, what was that? Oh, yeah, we live in the middle of nowhere. It would take hours to get to town." Dean was slowly walking back towards Sam, hands in pockets.

"What other option is there?" Sam simply raised his eyebrows, and smirked.

"No, no, no, no, no, and wait for it… No."


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for such the short chapters... I find it easier to write short things that equal a whole. If anyone has any suggestions to make this better, I would be glad to listen. Thanks!

* * *

><p>Dean walked slowly, deliberately taking his time, putting one foot in front of the other. Dust blossomed up with each step, for the rain had ceased to exist for a few weeks.<p>

Over the slight rumble of the engine, Sam yelled, "Dean, come on. Get on already! At this rate, it'll take all day." Dean turned his head slightly, and gave Sam a glare that would stop an army in their tracks, but Sam, being used to Dean and everything Dean, merely dismissed it. "Dean, seriously. You're acting very immature for your age."

Dean simply kept walking. Sam drove slowly next to him, and said, "Dean, why don't you want ride on this?"

Dean stopped dead in tracks, and stared at Sam with a deadpan face. Dean couldn't believe that Sam could even ask him such a question. The audacity of it! In a tone that was filled with ice, Dean hissed, "You're riding a scooter."

"And what's wrong with that?"

Dean made a gagging sound in the back of his throat. "Sammy, you ask me what's wrong with that? What's wrong with that? I'll tell you what's wrong with that! Just say scooter a couple of times… Scooter, scooter, scooter! Just the word makes people laugh at you! It's an old man's ride!"

"Are you done?" Sam had stopped the scooter, and crossed his arms.

"No. I'll be sitting behind you, right? I'll look like a chic! If anything, Samantha, you're the girl in this relationship." Dean was turned away from Sam and the monstrosity, and was facing the forest.

"Dean, let me point out something; you are an old! You just look young. So, technically, there is nothing wrong with it. I'm sure your pride can handle riding on the scooter, just once. Also, I thought we passed the phase of you calling me that. Finally, since when are we in a relationship?" Dean hated when Sam did that. Always coming up with the better side of the argument. Ignoring the fact that Sam was probably right, Dean kept walking.

"Dean, at this rate, we'll never get to the garage. If we don't get to the garage, we won't get to the Impala." Dean perked up his ears, and ran to the scooter and sat on it, yet backwards, just to be defiant.

Dean started humming, watching the past as they drove on. Sam sat contemplating, driving as fast as the scooter would allow.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"This whole thing confuses me…"

"It confuses me, too. I wish I knew what happened."

"No, not that. Sure, that's confusing, but what about this plan? I mean, going to see the Impala to see if we're dead or not? How does that help us?"

"Sammy, as long as we get to the Impala, and off this atrocity, I'll be good. If people talk to us, then we're probably alive. If not, well, we will deal." Dean spoke indifferently, as if he had other thoughts on the matter.

"I wish I could just accept it Dean, but I can't. This is hard on me, and I know it is hard on you too."

For a while, they were silent, the only noise was the motor. Finally, Sam muttered quietly, "Dean, what if we are dead?"

"Then we're dead."

"Dean, you know what I mean…"

"Sam, let's not think about it know. What's the problem with it, even if we are? We were old, Sam. Very old. I was sick, and you were going to kill yourself. I thought you had come to terms with that." Dean's voice was harder than usual; this was not a subject he wanted to bring up again.

"I know Dean, but all the people that we could have saved, but won't be able to." Dean didn't reply, and Sam knew he would be stupid to say anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sam. Where is this freaking garage?" Dean spoke gruffly, his patience wearing.

"Dean…" Sam sighed, exasperated. Sometimes, dealing with Dean was difficult. "It's been about, oh, ten minutes? Can't you wait another five?"

"Hmmm. I don't know. Where is the freaking garage?"

"On the outskirts of town, okay? Now shut your pie hole."

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah Dean?"

"Pie sounds good." As Sam failed to reply, Dean took it that the conversation was over. He settled back into the silence, and looked out at the surroundings. Trees, trees, and more trees. Nothing he hadn't seen before. But somehow, now, it was different. They held new meaning. What meaning, he didn't know, and didn't really care to dwell on long enough to find out.

After a short while, Dean could see the slight outline of a building, a building he guessed was a garage. He tapped Sam, who slowed down to turn around and look at him. Dean took advantage of the lessened speed, and jumped. He stumbled slightly, dust blooming around him, but regained balance, turned, and started to walk towards the, as he assumed, garage.

By this point, Sam had had enough of Dean and his rather childish behavior. Just because he looked younger, didn't mean he had to act it. He slowly decelerated, and brought the machine to a stop. He hopped off, and backtracked to Dean.

"Now what was that for?"

"No way in hell am I going to ride into public on _that_."

"Dean, I don't feel like dealing with a ten year old."

"Then don't."

Sam sighed, and walked beside Dean quietly for a moment, and then spoke to Dean.

"Dean, before we get there, based off the assumption that we are alive, there is something I have to tell you."

"What is it?"

"Well, you know how you haven't come off our house in a while since you started to get sick…"

"You're point?"

"Things have changed. A lot."

"Good for them."

"Dean, I just wanted to warn you."

"About what? Is there an i-Phone 30 or something?"

"It's more than that. You won't like-" Sam stopped suddenly, realizing Dean was no longer beside him, but instead sprinting ahead. Being gifted with long legs, Sam was able to catch up to Dean fairly quickly.

"Dean… what… is… this… all… about?"

"The Impala! Nobody is allowed to touch my baby but me!" He sprinted ahead, defying the fact that he was shorter than Sam with the matter of pure determination. Sam gave up, knowing it was pointless to stop Dean on his mission. So, he slowed to a jog. He realized something, and took his time, and avoided going straight into the garage. He admired the scenery, and tied his shoe. He walked in, and seeing Dean in a heated conversation with the assistant mechanic, started to smile. He had been right. No one would recognize them as the people who owned the Impala, and therefore no one would let them take the Impala.

"What do you mean I can't take the car?"

"Well, sir, I mean that car isn't yours."

"Dude! Stop calling me sir!"

"Sir, I am merely trying to be polite."

"Who cares? We are arguing. You don't need to be polite. I want my car."

"Sir, it's not yours."

"But here's the thing- it is." By this time, Sam had moved to Dean's side.

"No, sir, it's not."

At this point, the head mechanic had come in the room as to see what the commotion was. He took a quick glance at the two, and then walked up to them, wiped his hands off, and shook their hands.

Calmly, he said, "What may I do for you two gentleman?"

"You can give me my car."

"Oh, I see." He walked over to the other mechanic, and started to speak with him about the matter.

Sam could hear their whispers, but could make out no content. Then, he heard the word "Impala" muttered. The head mechanic's eyes widened, and then he glanced over Sam and Dean for a long moment. He went behind the desk, and returned with a picture. In it was the Impala, plus Sam and Dean approximately forty five years before.

"That… That… That's… You?"

Dean growled, clearly getting annoyed with the conversation, merely wanting to see his car again. "No fu-" Sam promptly clamped his hand over Dean's mouth, and whispered in his ear before Dean had a chance to bite his hand, which he clearly was planning on doing.

"Fudge?" Dean muttered.

The mechanics looked visibly shaken, and shuffled through papers until he found the keys. He promptly handed them over to Dean.

"Whoo!"


End file.
